Silence fell between them.
Hugo looked away, lifted the glass, and drained it in one long gulp. Ice clinked sharply against the rim before he set it down with a muted thud. He exhaled through his nose, the sound heavy—final.
"The project," he said at last, reaching for the bottle again, "the only hope we had of regaining our power... has been terminated."
Roseline froze.
Her breath hitched, eyes widening as though she hadn’t heard him correctly. "W-what?" She surged to her feet and crossed the room in quick, agitated strides. "How? That project was sealed. No one had the authority to shut it down."
Hugo poured himself another drink, unhurried, deliberate, before turning to face her.
"Because the chairman of Glorious International decided to intervene."
The color drained from her face.
"Chairman?" she echoed faintly. "But Daniel runs the company. He handles everything—the welfare divisions, the investnts, the internal projects. Since when did the chairman involve himself in operational matters?"
Hugo took a slow sip before lowering himself onto the couch. His posture was relaxed, almost lazy, but his eyes were sharp—calculating. Roseline joined him, though she couldn’t bring herself to lean back. She perched on the edge of the cushion, watching him closely, searching for what he wasn’t saying.
"That," Hugo replied, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, "is exactly what bothers ."
Roseline swallowed. "Are you saying Daniel let this happen?"
"I’m saying," Hugo corrected coolly, "that Daniel did nothing to stop it."
She shook her head at once. "That doesn’t make sense. Daniel wouldn’t stand by. He knows what that project ant to us. To you."
"So I believed." Hugo’s lips curved into a faint smile, empty of humor. "Yet the termination order went through smoothly. No resistance. No delays. No frantic calls asking for my intervention. It was as if the decision had been waiting to be signed."
Roseline’s fingers curled into her palm. "Maybe the chairman acted suddenly. Maybe Daniel didn’t have ti to react."
Hugo’s gaze lingered on her a second too long.
"Daniel always has ti," he said quietly, "when sothing truly threatens him. Or ."
Unease crept into her chest. "Then why would the chairman suddenly step in now? He’s been invisible for years."
"Exactly," Hugo murmured. "Invisible n don’t wake up one morning and dismantle projects that shift the balance of power unless they’re pushed... or unless they’re protecting sothing."
Roseline frowned. "Protecting whom?"
Hugo didn’t answer imdiately. He leaned back, resting his arm along the couch, eyes fixed on the ceiling as if replaying events only he could see.
"I once believed Daniel was rely ambitious," he said at last. "Ruthless when needed, but loyal. He ca to when I needed backing—when I needed soone to shield from the board, from the old wolves who wanted gone."
A short, humorless laugh escaped him.
"I thought we understood each other."
Roseline’s voice softened. "And now?"
"Now," Hugo replied, "I’m beginning to suspect I was the only one being honest in that understanding."
He had never been blind to his own motives. Aligning himself with Daniel had been strategic. His own influence was powerful but unstable; Daniel had offered ground that wouldn’t shift easily. Yet now, with the tides turning, that confidence was eroding—replaced by suspicion.
Roseline’s heart skipped. "You think he’s playing both sides?"
For her, Daniel had always represented stability—soone who could keep the business afloat, soone who could give her daughter the life she herself never could, not even after marrying Hugo.
"I think," Hugo said slowly, "that he has grown far too comfortable. Too quiet. While I’m dealing with attacks from every direction, he sits in his office and allows the chairman to make moves that weaken ."
Roseline clenched her jaw. "Daniel wouldn’t betray us. There has to be another explanation—"
Her words died when Hugo looked at her.
His eyes were cold—sharp enough to cut. She swallowed the rest of her protest.
He could have told her about what Kathrine had once warned him about Daniel. At the ti, he’d dismissed it as paranoia. She’d been cautious, never pressing too hard. But now, with doubt festering and certain events unfolding too conveniently, his attention was shifting—away from old threats and toward the ones hiding in plain sight.
"Are you defending him," Hugo asked quietly, "because he is Anna’s husband?"
Roseline gaped. "I—I was just—"
"Just don’t forget why we married, Roseline," Hugo cut in, his voice dropping. "Don’t forget that you are my wife before you are a mother."
The edge in his tone sent a shiver down her spine.
"You may have had her first," he continued, unflinching, "but you gave your word—my family cos first. If you’re backing that man because he married your daughter, then stop."
Roseline’s fist tightened at her side. For a mont, defiance flickered in her eyes—but it faded. She nodded.
"Good," Hugo said softly.
The word landed like a verdict.
How could she ever forget what it had cost her to beco Hugo’s wife?
Their marriage had never been born from love or naïve promises. It was a negotiation, sealed with quiet desperation on her side and calculated advantage on his.
Roseline had needed protection—power strong enough to silence the person who would have crushed her and her daughter without rcy.
Hugo had provided that shield—his na alone powerful enough to close doors, silence enemies, and erase threats before they could reach her. But protection had never been free.
In return, he demanded sothing far more personal: an undivided love for his daughter, the child he had almost lost to kidnapping. That brush with loss had hollowed him, leaving behind a man who clung fiercely to the one thing he could not afford to lose again.
Roseline understood the price imdiately. If she wanted power and safety—if she wanted her daughter to grow up untouched by the shadows circling them—she had to accept Hugo’s condition without hesitation. And she did.
She beca what he needed her to be: attentive, gentle, unwavering in her devotion. She offered care that looked sincere, kindness that softened his fears, and a presence that reassured him his daughter would never be alone again.
Yet behind that carefully worn warmth, Roseline was never idle. Even as she fulfilled her role, she was quietly laying foundations of her own. Her love was real, but her foresight was sharper.
Because in a world where protection could be withdrawn as easily as it was given, Roseline knew one truth above all else—a mother who relied solely on borrowed power was already failing her child.
So Roseline never let opportunity pass her by—every opening, every advantage, she seized with quiet precision, always thinking two steps ahead.
She drew in a slow breath, schooling her expression before steering the conversation back to the danger now looming over them.
"So what do we do now?" Roseline asked, her voice asured as she shifted the topic to the problem that had just fallen into their laps. "Are you going to let everything go?"
Hugo didn’t answer imdiately.
He stared ahead, jaw set, the glass forgotten in his hand. Too many pieces were moving at once. Kathrine was already working to contain the fallout, stabilizing what could be salvaged, softening the imdiate blow. On the surface, it looked as though the damage was manageable.
But there was one thought he couldn’t shake.
The chairman’s sudden interference. Daniel’s silence.
It gnawed at him, threading itself through every calculation. Losses could be recovered. Power could be rebuilt. But betrayal—especially the kind that arrived wearing loyalty—was far more dangerous.
***
[Back inside the bookstore]
"What if I say whatever you’re looking for... I have answers to it?"
Anna’s voice cut through Kathrine’s thoughts, stopping her mid-step.
Kathrine turned. The mont their eyes t, she felt it—an unsettling certainty that settled deep in her chest. Anna wasn’t bluffing. Whatever she held, she believed in it.
Anna reached into her bag and pulled out a slim file, its edges worn as if it had been handled many tis. She didn’t open it imdiately. Instead, she held it out, watching Kathrine carefully.
"You can see for yourself," she said quietly.
Kathrine hesitated before taking it. The weight of the folder felt wrong in her hands—too heavy for paper, too deliberate to be coincidence. She flipped it open.
The first page made her breath stutter.
Her na and beneath it were clinical notes, dates, signatures. Therapy reports. Session logs. Her fingers trembled as she turned the pages, each line tightening sothing in her chest.
Age seven. mory regression. Emotional stabilization. Cognitive restructuring.
Kathrine’s pulse roared in her ears. As she read further, the words blurred, then sharpened with cruel clarity—mory suppression techniques. Not trauma coping. Not healing. Suppression. Intentional, thodical, approved.
Kathrine swallowed hard, her throat burning.
This wasn’t treatnt. It was erasure.
Her gaze fell on the authorization page, and the world seed to tilt.
Her father’s signature stared back at her.
"Dad approved it"
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